Gutted

I don't know why this sight makes me sad; there are about a gazillion fruit markets in this neighbourhood, plus I didn't even like the owner of this place. The one and only time I dropped in there, wearing a heady mix of patchouli and clove--a concoction that normally has men flocking around--the dude said, "are you sick? are you on medication? you stink." I told him in no uncertain terms that his wife is one very unlucky lady, left my unpaid purchases on the counter and walked out.

Ps. Chuckle. That was years ago. I guess I never quite got over it.